spring wheat
Recently, I was given the advice to try being vulnerable with an added footnote of ” … it might be good for you.”
Me.
Be needy-er.
To let others take care of me.
Do less … let others do more … and be all right with it.
Great advice, except for one little thing: I. Haven’t. A. Clue. How.
To make the point further, I was asked, “When was the last time you made a mistake?” Dumfounded, nothing came to mind. Please know that this does not infer I don’t make them, what I am saying is that, generally speaking, unless they’re really big and cataclysmic, I don’t keep track. I know I forget names quickly (ask me your name 5 seconds after we first meet .. Bill, Bob, Burt …um… oh, crap!), published with typos, turned left when I should have turned right, etc, you get the picture.
I don’t keep track of mine and I’m not keeping track of yours.
But the advice given did make me stop and think.
Be. Vulnerable.
How? I don’t know how to do vulnerable.
Thinking about it more .. I think I understand what was meant: I do good job of taking care of everyone else. Of making sure that things happen. Birthdays aren’t just remembered, they’re celebrated. Parties aren’t just held .. they’re thrown. Dots aren’t just connected … they’re dot-to-Shazam-dot!
The point being?
Who does it for me?
It’s not that others don’t want to care for me … I haven’t let them.
I have no needs because I’m “fine.”
I’ve built a life out of being “fine.”
Ouch.
I get it now. What she really meant was this: It’s OK to do a little less for others so as to leave room .. for me.
It sounds good .. in theory.
It’s also completely foreign to everything I’ve ever done. It’s the opposite of me –my over-the-top, exceed all expectations, never-let-anyone-down- kind of way.
Make a mistake on purpose? Are you kidding me?
What was your name again?
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So … how good are you at being vulnerable?
